(Arun Jaitley: 1952—2019) The flag is at half-mast, a gloom shrouds the chancel of the land; The one who hugged oblivion was once the counsel of the land. Soft spoken, discreet, a maven of silken-tongued satires, He unmasked and foxed many a weasel of the land. How many skies can a flyer scale without […]Read More
Like a penitent pigeon, grief has settled again on the ledge;
Molten moons have lingered and shone in vain on the ledge.
The blizzard sits in the mountains, the earthquake in the grass,
Shall I wear the deathly wind, or kiss the snake in the grass?
Afterwards, I shall be a mote swirling at your window, Without a breath, or a heartbeat, ringing at your window. Noon has stumbled through the half-wicked buildings, Like a blemish upon the wooers singing at your window. Withering are the curses that are uttered in the bazaar, To the weaver of the drapery swinging at […]Read More
Each night I bleed a part of my soul to her beauty, Silken words awaken to fill up the hole to her beauty. A lone moon is treading forth the liminal dust of evening, The dying sun has hitched a veil of kohl to her beauty. Is that a beeline of suitors to the bounty […]Read More
Old lesions fester and seep in the cavern of tonight, Dark thoughts gather and weep in the cavern of tonight. A high wind is swaying the maimed tree of deodar, The parched lips of tippler look for tavern of tonight. Upturned chairs wait not for visitors in the café, The feast moved to your boudoir […]Read More
Fallen by the wayside like a sheaf by the nightfall, The sea of love has withered on the reef by the nightfall. Happiness will travel only one way with her footsteps, The dust will settle deep like a grief by the nightfall. A moment wriggled free from the canopy of memories to be trampled by […]Read More